One Through Twelve
by Nightengale
Summary: "I bought you some presents," Sherlock says quietly... When John opens the box he sees more purple, fabric around a cushion, and nestled in the center, like a ring would be, is a flash drive. (Another of my text message fics) (Slash)


John sits on the couch with _Red Dragon_ in his lap, slowly turning pages as he reads. He'd recently watched _Silence of the Lambs_ and wanted more. Sherlock is even affecting his reading it seems. Parts of it make him laugh where it really shouldn't because he can see Sherlock in it or it reminds him of some case they'd had. This is his life now.

"John?"

John jerks his head up in surprise as he had not heard Sherlock come in. He smiles softly and snaps the book closed. "Hi"

Sherlock stands beside the couch, hands behind his back, and shifts his weight slowly back and forth between his feet.

John tilts his head and raises both eyebrows. "What is it?"

Sherlock clears his throat and smiles, his awkward 'I know normal people do it like this' smile. "It is your birthday."

John frowns and shakes his head. "Last week."

"Exactly, John," Sherlock continues, "we were on a case and I... neglected to mark the occasion."

John laughs. "I've had plenty of birthdays, Sherlock, it's not necessary."

"John, as your partner -" John cocks an eyebrow so Sherlock stops and frowns. "As your significant other..." John purses his lips. Sherlock sighs. "Just what would you have me call you then, John, as labels are so important? Is boyfriend what you wish? I think that a deal juvenile for us."

John chuckles and shakes his head. "Oh no, I just like watching you try to figure it out."

"You are always a delight," Sherlock says deadpan.

John smiles and puts his book down. "So?"

"So." Sherlock gives John a look. "Part of my significant other role -"

"Role?"

"Is to celebrate such things with you."

John opens his mouth once then threads his fingers together over his knee. "Like a party?"

Sherlock scoffs loudly.

John chuckles, "yeah, I thought not."

"I..." Sherlock clears his throat again and brings his hands around to the front of his body, a long box which he flips to horizontal in one hand and a smaller box in the other. Both are solid black, no wrapping but with a single purple ribbon and a bow around each.

"I bought you some presents," Sherlock says quietly.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock sits down beside John on the couch and hands him the larger box.

John takes it slowly, still watching Sherlock. "This isn't some sort of experiment, is it?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

John turns back to the box with a smile and unties the ribbon. He opens the box, pushes tissue paper aside and then looks sidelong at Sherlock. "A suit?"

"You need one."

"I have one."

Sherlock snorts. "No, you don't."

John frowns and pulls the black jacket out. It certainly is much nicer than the one he owns already, maybe even nicer than Sherlock's usual suits.

"Is this tailored?"

"Of course."

"How did –"

Sherlock scoffs. "Please."

"I am having a James Bond moment."

Sherlock stares at him and frowns slightly.

"Oh, come on." John places the suit jacket back in the box. "I made you watch _Casino Royale_; I know I did."

"I am sure it was enjoyable in the moment, John."

John puts the suit box down on the floor then leans in and touches Sherlock's face, kissing him once. "Thank you."

Sherlock smiles against John's lips and kisses him once back. "You are welcome."

John leans back again and Sherlock hands John the small box, about the size of a standard coffee mug. John shakes it once and glances at Sherlock. Sherlock frowns and taps his finger tips on his thighs.

"Breakable?" John says with a smirk.

"If you attempted to smash it."

John smiles more and pulls off the ribbon. When John opens the box he sees more purple, fabric around a cushion, and nestled in the center, like a ring would be, is a flash drive. John opens his mouth slightly then closes it with a click of teeth. He looks up through arched eyebrows.

Sherlock smiles. "Where does a flash drive usually go, John?"

John's eyes automatically flick across the room to the table by the windows where his laptop sits. By the time he looks back, Sherlock is already standing up and walking across the room. When Sherlock sits back down he opens John's laptop, breezes through the password John changed only three days ago then angles the laptop on his leg toward John. John pulls the drive out of the box, putting the box aside, then scoots closer to Sherlock so the laptop can balance on both their legs. He puts the drive into the port and waits.

When the drive pops up, he sees just one folder labeled 'open.' John shoots Sherlock a look but Sherlock keeps staring innocently at the computer screen. John moves the mouse with the touch pad then left clicks the mouse key. Inside the folder are image icons, named only 1 through 12. John turns sharply to Sherlock in surprise. Sherlock glances at John then raises his eyebrows. John turns back to the laptop and clicks on 1.

It is a photo of him, Sherlock and Lestrade, arms all folded across their chests as they lean against a gray brick wall. John remembers this one; it was at a murder crime scene and the new PC, Kathy, on the scene said they looked like they were out of a bad cop show standing that way. John laughs at the picture, a frown on Sherlock's face while he and Greg are smiling. He clicks the next arrow.

John laughs before he barely takes the image in because he remembers right away: Molly's arm around Sherlock's neck, John squishing in as she takes a shot from above with her mobile, the very tops of their heads cut off and bits of the Barts lab in the background.

The next photo is the two of them standing outside the flat, serious and posed because Mrs. Hudson said she 'had to put something in a frame.'

John clicks again to a photo of the two of them seated on the couch in Harry's flat, his arm across the back by Sherlock's shoulders.

"Her New Year's party."

"Yes."

"Didn't someone slap you at that party?"

Sherlock's mouth quirks. "Early on. They apologized later."

"First time for everything."

Sherlock smirks and John clicks the arrow on.

The next picture is obviously from the same party a few hours later. Sherlock and John stand across from each other, white wine in John's hand, laughing about something. John is slightly bent over while Sherlock has his hands in his pockets, grin spread wide as he chuckles. John's fingers clench once on the edge of the laptop and he smiles. He clicks next.

This photo is black and white, John and Sherlock sitting on a street curb, blurred crime scene tape closer to the camera and slightly obscuring them, Sherlock with a cigarette held to his lips.

John taps the screen over the cigarette. "Should send this to Mycroft."

Sherlock chuckles quietly. "He gave it to me."

"He has agents taking photos of us?"

Sherlock shrugs then puts his hand over John's and taps John's finger down once, advancing to the next photo.

Sherlock looks directly at the camera, fairly close, John right beside him – shoulders brushing – but looking away from the camera. Just at the bottom of the frame are their hands clasped together. John stares for a moment because the photo is so real – so open – Sherlock's face soft and still, like he'd turned just as the button clicked.

"Who took this?"

"Donovan."

"Sally?!"

Sherlock leans into John just slightly and pulls his hand off John's and rests it on John's thigh. "She said she wanted proof of what she always knew."

John scoffs and Sherlock rubs a circle on John's leg. John tilts his head and sighs. "You look lovely despite the photographer."

Sherlock's mouth twitches but he says nothing. John smiles then clicks the arrow again.

The next picture is a group shot from Christmas, a party at Baker Street; Molly, Greg, Greg's wife, Mrs. Hudson, the neighbors Jim and Ted, the PC Debbie who called Sherlock 'brilliant' that one time, then himself and Sherlock side by side. Everyone is smiling – camera on a timer sitting on top of Sherlock's laptop if John remembers right – and looking at the camera, except Sherlock. Sherlock's head is turned to look at John.

John puts his hand over Sherlock's on his leg.

The next photo is Sherlock and John from the behind, Sherlock's arm around the middle of John's back, John saying something in Sherlock's ear. John has no idea when it's from or what he might have been saying, a picture completely stolen in the moment.

John looks at Sherlock. Sherlock glances back and bites his lip briefly. "Anthea."

"Ah."

"Who knew she stalked so well."

John's lip quirks slightly. "I did."

Sherlock only smiles, lips together.

John clicks the arrow again and wonders how in the world this idea came out of Sherlock Holmes.

Picture 10. John sits on Harry's couch, New Year's again, with Sherlock's head in his lap, sleeping. John has his hand in Sherlock's hair, smiling as he looks down, for a moment, maybe longer, he can't remember. He just remembers after this photo, when the clock hit midnight and Sherlock woke up to John's kiss.

"Oh, Sherlock."

"There are two more," Sherlock says quietly.

John clicks again and sees their flat, Christmas once more.

Sherlock is at the computer, that devious and often dangerous 'a case!' expression on his face while John stands behind him. His hand rests on Sherlock's shoulder and his face, his nose really, is buried in Sherlock's curls, like no one else is there.

John turns and looks at Sherlock. Sherlock just squeezes John's leg and nods toward the computer screen.

John nods too. "Okay."

Twelve is... well it's just them. John is in Sherlock's arms – hands clasped together at the small of John's back – Sherlock is grinning, happy, elated the sort of expression hardly anyone sees. Happy at a case solved, at John's face, at a day won. And John is kissing him, just barely, just a touch of lips before it devolves into more teenage actions. Just himself and Sherlock, as close as they can be.

John turns to look at Sherlock, "thank you."

Sherlock looks back. "You're welcome."

John smiles, "how did... I mean, this is-"

Sherlock suddenly kisses John, hand on his jaw and John forgets any words in his head.

"John..." Sherlock pulls back. "You..." he sighs and looks to the side. "You said, a few months ago we have no photos." Sherlock looks back to John. "I thought you would want some."

John glances at the screen, the two of them, then back to Sherlock. "It's perfect."

Sherlock smiles. "I didn't realize the lack was – "

John squeezes Sherlock's hand on his thigh and kisses him. "It is perfect."

Sherlock slips his free hand into John's hair, kisses John back. "Happy birthday, John."

"I love you." John kisses Sherlock again. "I love you."

Sherlock bumps his nose against John's. "I hope you've had a good birthday."

John smiles, "I did," and kisses Sherlock again, hand on Sherlock's jaw, pulling him closer. "I will."


End file.
